


There's A Wolf In My Heart

by octoberland



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Horror, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberland/pseuds/octoberland
Summary: The dead don't walk the Earth but something else does. A TWD AU that brings Carol and Daryl together and then, maybe, tears them apart. Because nothing in this world is ever easy. And men aren't the only monsters.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Readers_Muse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/gifts).



> This was supposed to just be a Halloween drabble for a prompt I was given but it decided it wanted to be more. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy. This is my first AU so please be gentle. Story has not been beta'd.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing.

He met her in a bar. Cliché, he knew, but there it was. It was one of those middle of nowhere dives filled with cigarette smoke and stale beer and even staler men and women. Just the kind of place he liked; anonymous and off the beaten path. Every small town had one. This place was no different.

He hadn't been here too long. Just long enough to make some acquaintances. The kind you could shoot the shit with and down a few beers and maybe get some local gossip if you were lucky. But not the kind that would care too much if you disappeared. Never that kind.

It was a Friday night when they met. The day paychecks burned holes in pockets. He sat at a round table in a rickety chair surrounded by his most recent circle of friends. For the most part he fit right in. His hair was unkempt. His clothes rumpled and unwashed. But where their stomachs spilled over round and fat, his was lean and muscled, hidden as it was under his loose clothing.

Unlike him, most of them were married, unhappily so, or so they'd say. But that didn’t stop them from looking. And it certainly didn’t stop them from egging him on. 

His buddies had dared him. "Look 'it her," they'd said. "Bet she's a carpet muncher. Bet you don't get two steps near her 'fore she high tails it out of here."

The woman in question sat alone in the back. She was slim and no spring chicken but it suited her. She wore her grey hair short and was dressed in cargo pants and a plain jersey top.

He'd taken the bet, had seen something in the way she sat, back to the wall, eyes clear despite the whiskey sitting in front of her. Had figured at the very least she might have an interesting story to tell.

So he'd gone up to her, beer in hand, smoke trailing behind him.

"Mind?" he'd muttered, head nodding at the empty chair.

She'd eyed him for a moment, and then, slowly, she scanned the room before settling her gaze back on him.

"No. I don't mind," she'd said, her face lighting up with a smile that instantly put him at ease.

And it was easy being with her. They sat like two old pals, laughing and drinking, drinking and laughing. He learned her name was Carol and that she'd been married. And he'd guessed by the way her eyes darkened at the mention of her former husband that things hadn’t ended well so he'd changed tracks, complimenting her instead which had earned a slight blush from her. 

Last call came and went and Daryl found himself asking if she'd like to come back to his place, something he never did. 

She'd smiled again. "Sure," she'd replied; her voice low and sliding across him, warming him in ways the beer couldn't.

So they went. And he gave only a passing thought to the fact that he lived in a rented trailer and that his clothes were strewn all over the place and his sink was piled high with dishes. And he only briefly wondered at this slight woman and how she could drink and drink and not ever seem to get drunk, while he had to focus all his energy into every little step.

She'd taken the keys from him in the parking lot, insisted she drive the bike instead, and he was going to protest until he saw her stretch one long leg over the seat. In that moment all the blood in his head rushed south and he could barely form a word, never mind a protest. So he just grunted and slid on behind her and marveled at how warm she was on this cool October night as he slid his arms around her.

The ride back was quick, too quick. The moon was just a sliver in the sky and the chill air bit at his face, stinging, and dulling the weight of the liquor in his stomach.

His home was dark, set back on the road as it was, and as the light from the bike hit it, he could see the plastic chair sat out front that he'd sit in and smoke and drink coffee in the morning.

"Ain't much," he'd mumbled as they got off the bike and made their way in but she'd just laughed, a light tinkling kind of laugh and laid her hand on his arm.

"I don’t care," she'd replied, eyes shining in the low light.

They collapsed into the nook where he slept and they drank some more and they laughed some more and they smoked and though he never ever talked about it with anyone he found himself telling her about his brother, about how he'd gone missing some years back. It made him feel weak to admit that, to show this woman that there was a spot in him that was worn and vulnerable, but she'd made no fuss about it, just handed him the bottle of Jack, a shadow passing over her face before being replaced with a warm smile.

Sometimes skin brushed against skin during that night, sending a current of electricity through him, but as the sun rose turning the sky from pitch black to dull gray the booze caught up with Daryl. He drifted off into a peaceful slumber with the woman named Carol by his side. And it wasn't until hours later, when the sun was high in the sky and his bladder ached from being full, that he woke and realized he'd been had.

She was gone and so was the money from his wallet. And somehow, he didn’t know how, she'd found his stash. His "mattress" money, 'cept it wasn't in his mattress. It was hidden in a panel in the wall and now it was gone and that pissed Daryl off.

It had taken him a long time to save that money. Had taken his brother going missing to get him on his current path. Daryl had always been a good hunter. His brother, Merle, had taught him when they were just boys. Merle was all he'd ever had in this world. So when Daryl had come home one night and Merle hadn't he'd decided right then that he'd make it his job to find him. No more petty theft. No more drugs. He was going to find Merle. But to do that, he needed money. And he knew where to get it.

He just had to find her.


End file.
